


Serial Kisser

by chellerrific



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 07:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3887122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chellerrific/pseuds/chellerrific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, six times Apollo didn’t get married.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serial Kisser

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be short and fun. Hahahahaha.
> 
> There are some consent issues in the fourth (especially) and fifth parts, as well as mentions of character death.
> 
> Thanks to Phil, who repeated lines back to me so that I felt clever.

The moon, full and fat, sat nestled in a blanket of stars, casting an unearthly glow on the forest below. The shadows were long and faintly alive with possibility and secrets. It was the kind of night his sister loved best. For his part, Apollo preferred to stay close to the fire.

His deft fingers played up and down the length of the aulos, a language more effortless to him than any other flowing out onto the breeze. Beside him, Artemis plucked at the lyre. She didn’t play as often as he did, and certainly not for just anyone, which made it easy to forget what a marvel she was. Easy for others, anyway, not for him.

Around the fire whirled nine figures, the sharp contrast turning them into shifting silhouettes. Apollo could distinguish them with no difficulty, however. The languid grace of Melpomene, the featherlight feet of Urania, and Terpsichore, most exquisite and alive of them all. Each of them was glorious, but this had always been Terpsichore’s element particularly.

“Lord Apollo?”

One of the figures had slipped away from the others. Euterpe stood over him, her slender, supple fingers outstretched. “May I?”

Apollo grinned. He had been itching to join the Muses by the fire since they struck up this impromptu session. Euterpe’s smile was soft and knowing.

He jumped up, handing her the aulos, and barely had time to contemplate his next move before Thalia seized his wrist and pulled him into the circle. She had an aggressive energy that often turned dance into a full-contact sport. He had only just settled into a rhythm with her when he found himself spun away again, this time staring down the double barrel of Erato’s fluid, hypnotic power. Clio got hold of him next, the least adroit of the sisters but with a certain knowing charm that made up for it. Then came the understated serenity of Polyhymnia, and so on down the line, twirled around and around from sister to sister, flashes of fabric and fingers and firelight, until at last he found himself face-to-face with Calliope. Though Terpsichore was easily the better dancer, Calliope had a presence that was undeniably compelling. If pressed to choose, he would have to say he liked dancing with her best.

“Lord Apollo,” she said, a sheen of sweat on her forehead catching the flickering light beside them. “There is truly no one quite like you.”

“Not quite, no,” he said with a grin.

“My sisters and I will be ever so devastated when my lord marries,” she went on. “Some of them even hope they’ll be the one you choose for your wife.”

Apollo smirked carelessly. “Oh, well, I’m in no rush to—” And then her words hit him like the Symplegades.

Around him, the world kept going, but Apollo came to a dead stop. Sounds began to blur and wane. The fire, the music, the laughter… it was all drowned out by the beating of his own heart. His breathing became labored. His eyes darted around, taking in the eight figures twirling and leaping past him in aethereal procession. _Wife… wife… wife…_

The music and dancing came to a clumsy, uneven stop. Faces were turning towards him, their expressions of joy fading into ones of confusion and concern.

“Lord Apollo?”

“Lord Apollo?”

“Apollo?”

That voice was different. He focused on it. The nine Muses were clamoring for his response, but Artemis had hung back. Even she was saying nothing smart-alecky. The ground beneath his feet began to steady as the pounding in his chest slowed.

An uncomfortable silence followed.

Suddenly, just when it became unbearable, he laughed. “Ha… haha! Wife! Oh, you kidder! How could I possibly marry one of you when each of you holds one of nine equal shares of my heart? Not only would that be impossible, I could not shoulder the burden of breaking the other eight hearts. Each break would compound inside my own till I felt them all a thousandfold. No, I must make this sacrifice… for all our sakes.”

“Oh, Lord Apollo!”

“Lord Apollo, you’re too kind!”

At the edge of the firelight, Artemis screwed her face up into a look of disgust. In response, he could only manage a sheepish shrug.

* * *

“Would you two stop laughing for five minutes and listen to me?”

It was several long moments before Artemis and Hermes caught their breath, straightened up, wiped away tears of mirth, and said, “Okay.”

Apollo smoothed his hands down the front of his best clothes. He was a dignified Olympian and their silliness had no effect whatsoever on him. “Now. Your skepticism is understandable, but I am a different person with different thoughts and different needs. Back then, I was a boy. Now, I am—”

“A boy with his chiton tucked in on itself,” Hermes said, prompting a renewed round of giggles.

Apollo flushed and quickly straightened his garments before continuing. “A _man_. And as such, I have discarded those silly boyish notions about marriage.”

Artemis cleared her throat. “Next can you discard the blanket Mother—”

“ _No_.” He huffed. “I don’t know what I was thinking, expecting _children_ to understand such sophisticated, adult matters.”

“Because we were the only ones who would sit and listen to you,” Hermes said, not sitting at all and barely listening as he tried to catch a dragonfly on his fingertip.

“And I’m older than you,” Artemis added.

Apollo ignored them both entirely this time. “Unless you have something mature and relevant to say, I take my leave!” He spun away in a tiff and promptly tripped over a large stone placed decoratively in the courtyard.

Artemis and Hermes didn’t even bother pretending to try not to laugh that time.

Apollo leapt back up and brushed himself off. He wasn’t going to give the walnut gallery behind him the satisfaction of so much as glancing back. Instead he marched off purposefully through the courtyard, his head held high (but not so high he couldn’t see any more obstacles in the way). It was a balmy day, sunny and warm but not hot. The cicadas were humming, which was always a good sign, and he was ripe with vigor and positivity, regardless of what certain other gods said or laughed at.

On his way through the lush greenery, he surveyed his options for the right token. He brushed his fingers along some dainty reddish amaranth, but they reminded him of his sister, so that seemed weird. The rose bushes were gorgeous, with a variety of colors to choose from, pinks and whites and yellows and more besides, but that was so obvious it became trite. At last he spotted an apple tree in bloom and plucked one of the juicy fruits cleanly from its branches. Women liked fruit. Artemis was always eating figs.

He continued on down the stoa till he realized he could hear voices. The sound stopped him short. He tucked himself behind a column, leaning around as little as necessary to get a better look.

The large figure he quickly identified as Poseidon, but that wasn’t what had brought him to a halt. There behind his uncle, her dark auburn hair just peeking out from under her veil, was the small, modest figure of Hestia.

Poseidon laughed and casually leaned his weight on one arm against the nearest column. He was clearly quite relaxed, and from the sound of it he was carrying the conversation without difficulty. Hestia blushed and looked away demurely, uttering the occasional reply or polite giggle.

“I’d say that contract’s about to go verbal.”

Apollo jumped. Hermes had followed him, and lagging very slightly behind was Artemis, looking out of breath and annoyed. They must have run to catch him up. She couldn’t stand anyone being able to run faster than her, but Hermes had no equal on Olympus in speed. There was no getting her to admit that, though.

Apollo turned back to the conversation down the hall. Poseidon was scratching the back of his head in some horrible parody of bashfulness, and Apollo caught the words “home” and “beautiful” and “babies.” White-hot rage flared up inside of him.

“Like Hades it is,” he said, stepping out from his hiding place. He didn’t even need to pause to take aim before letting the apple fly.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, Poseidon chose that precise moment to notice a loose strap on one of Hestia’s sandals and crouched down to fix it for her. It all happened so quickly no one even had time to cry out before the apple hit Hestia squarely in the face.

“Aunt Hes!” Artemis gasped. She and Hermes hurried to her side, Artemis taking a look at the injury before sending Hermes off with instructions for what she would need to tend to it.

Apollo wasn’t sure he hadn’t become an apple tree himself. He felt quite firmly rooted to the spot, unable to move or speak. Maybe everyone would leave him there to abscise in peace.

No such luck. Poseidon rounded on him. “What the carp do you think you’re doing?”

Still Apollo could not move as Poseidon bore down on him. At last they were nearly toe to toe, Poseidon so much larger that even if he hadn’t wanted to he would have loomed. And he did want to.

Finally the ichor started flowing through Apollo’s veins again. Feeling gradually returned to his extremities. He balled up his fists. He was not about to be intimidated. This was for love.

“I’m declaring my intentions for the gentle and elegant keeper of my hearth and heart, Hestia!” he announced as loudly as he could. “She deserves someone who can give her romance and poetry and sunshine! What can you give her? Anchovies?”

Poseidon considered him for a moment, then threw his head back and laughed. “Okay, this is funny enough that I’m going to give you the chance to turn around and leave now.”

Apollo squared his jaw and stared up at him defiantly. “No.”

Poseidon’s smile remained, but the animus in his eyes shifted visibly. “That’s not an offer I’m going to repeat, shrimp.”

Apollo assumed a fighting stance. He was lithe and youthful. This would be easy. He let a fist fly.

He could see quite clearly the blow had struck Poseidon in the chest, but all other sensory data was telling him he had punched solid granite.

“Heh,” Poseidon said, raising his own fist, which was roughly the size of Apollo’s head.

The next thing Apollo knew, Artemis was telling him Hestia had gone to Zeus and sworn a vow of chastity, effectively rejecting both proposals.

“Look on the bright side,” she said, applying a poultice to his eye, which he was pretty sure was where he’d left it, but he would have to check later. “At least you didn’t lose to old Squid Breath.”

Apollo groaned.

* * *

He ran his fingers through his hair a few more times, then, lacking a mirror, he turned to Artemis with a questioning look.

She made a face back at him.

Apollo sighed, grabbing the harp she was holding for him, and resumed walking. “Whatever. My natural good looks will carry me through.”

She followed. “Or you could rethink this whole thing.”

He didn’t even slow his pace as he glanced back at her, his expression alone enough of a response.

“I’m not saying this is the worst idea you’ve ever had, but—” She paused thoughtfully. “No, that thing with Aunt Hes was still way stupider. But this is definitely right up there.”

“I’m glad I can always count on your support, sis.”

“I’m saying this for your own good! Ares cried for three days and nobody’s even _seen_ Hephaestus in almost a week.”

Apollo scowled. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just put me in the same category as Hephaestus and _Ares_ , for Petros’ sake.”

They had left the acropolis, Apollo’s deliberate pace carrying them quickly out into the fields and environs. The twins were nimble-footed enough to pick their way down the side of the hill, rather than having to go all the way through the agora. Artemis would have tried to convince her brother to take the scenic route, but it wasn’t like a little extra time was going to make him any less of a fool. She had stopped holding her breath about that long ago.

They cut through the fields of wheat and barely, wending their way carefully so as not to disturb any of the crop. It was so high and vast it would have been easy to get lost, but the twins’ sense of direction was unrivaled. At last, the straw and clay walls of the little house came into view as they sidled through the final row of grain.

“Hey,” Artemis said, grabbing at his arm. “Why don’t we forget about this and go back, yeah? I’ve got some honey puffs left at home we can eat.”

He almost hesitated. He did love honey puffs. But no, this was far too important to be sidetracked by sweet, sweet candy. He squared his shoulders and marched forward.

Artemis sighed. And they said _she_ was the stubborn one.

He resolutely stepped up onto the porch and knocked.

The door opened, revealing Demeter on the other side.

Apollo grinned.

She slammed the door in his face.

Artemis let out her breath. “Okay, that settles that. We can go—no, stop!”

He had raised his fist to knock again. Artemis jumped on it bodily and wrestled it away from the door.

“Auntie Demeter!” Apollo called, knowing he couldn’t beat his sister in a contest of brute strength. “It’s your favorite nephew, Apollo! I’ve brought song and ardor in the name of true love for your radiant daughter, Persephone!”

Three heartbeats passed.

The door flew open again. Demeter looked a hair short of murderous. “Are you an idiot, boy?”

Apollo smiled jauntily. “No, ma’am!”

Demeter squinted at him, then turned her attention to the figure beside him. “Artemis?”

Artemis all but snapped to attention, dropping her iron grip on her brother’s arm and straightening her back. “Please, ma’am, he really is an idiot. It’s not his fault.”

“Aren’t we all fools in love?” Apollo said. “Ooh, that’s good. Art, remember that one.”

“Mother?” a voice called from inside the house.

Apollo’s face lit up. “Hark! The dulcet tones of my beloved chime anon!” He stood on his toes and strained to see around Demeter.

“Who’s at the door, Mother?”

Demeter shot Apollo one last sour look. “Absolutely no one, Kore,” she said, then slammed the door once more.

For a long moment, Apollo did not budge.

“Apollo?” Artemis ventured at last.

“B-but…” he muttered, his lip trembling. “Song and ardor! Dulcet tones! _Harp_!”

Artemis took him by the arm again, this time much more gently. “Those honey puffs are still waiting for us. And I can make more?”

Apollo covered his face with his free hand. “Artemis, please! I have been crossed in love! I can’t possibly have more than five or six.”

She glared. “You’re going to be having no more than _zero_ at the rate you’re going.”

“Fine, fine!” he relented. “Twelve and not a bite more!”

The look she gave him was thoroughly deadpan. “You’re so brave in the face of such tragedy.”

Apollo sniffed. “We all do what we must.”

They trudged back up to the palace, Apollo strangely silent.

“We can make baklava too?” Artemis suggested.

Still Apollo didn’t respond. Finally, he began to speak again, but what he said was, “You know, _she_ didn’t actually tell me no.”

Artemis stopped. “What?”

Apollo slowed and turned when he realized she was no longer following. “Persephone. She didn’t reject me personally. She doesn’t even know me. I wonder if—”

“Apollo, stop.” Artemis was genuinely irritated now. “You’re lucky Auntie Demeter didn’t turn you into a gecko. You don’t know how she is about Persephone.”

“So what you’re saying is… I need to find a way to circumvent Demeter.”

Artemis slowly raised her hand to meet her face. She took a deep breath before speaking. “No, what I’m _saying_ is that you’re really lucky all she slammed in your face was a door. Cut your losses while you still have hands to hold the knife.”

Apollo hesitated.

“And besides,” Artemis went on, turning the full strength of her glare back on him. “Can’t you men ever just leave a woman alone? Why can’t I keep Persephone?”

“Oh,” Apollo said. “I’m sorry, sis. I had no idea you felt that way about her.”

Artemis made a sound he had only ever heard from wolves before, then started walking again. She waved a hand as she passed him. “Whatever, sure. If that will get you to leave her alone for her sake and yours.”

“You should have just come out and said so from the start. I would have understood,” Apollo said, skipping at the last second to keep up with her.

“I’m shy,” she said flatly. “I can’t even believe you would ever think ‘circumventing’ Auntie Demeter would be a good idea. I once saw her condemn a guy to eternal torture for cutting down a tree.”

“Uh, snake and crab much, Art?”

She shot him a withering look. “My point is I’d feel safer pissing off _Father_ than Auntie. _Especially_ when it comes to Persephone. She would hunt you to the ends of the earth, kill you, drag you back up from Hades, and kill you again. _For starters_. _Prometheus_ would start to feel sorry for you.”

“Why are we repeatedly killing Apollo today?” Hermes asked, falling in step beside them.

“ _Nobody_ is killing Apollo today, because he’s going to give this silly idea of courting Persephone a permanent rest,” Artemis said.

“Oh.” He looked down at Apollo. “Got shut down too, huh?”

“By Demeter, not Persephone,” Apollo said loftily.

“Yeah, I hear that’s more or less what happened to Ares and Hephaestus. Or Ares, anyway; have you guys even _seen_ Hephaestus in the last, like, week?”

They shook their heads.

“Oh, well. Guess that means it’s my turn then. Later, losers!” He gave them a mock salute before flying off back the way they’d come.

Apollo and Artemis stared after him, open-mouthed.

“Did he just—?”

“I hope she roasts him,” Artemis said unapologetically. “We should tell Father he won’t be coming home for dinner.”

“Or he’ll be coming home _as_ dinner.”

Artemis made a face. “Not a lot of meat. He’d probably be really tough and chewy.”

Apollo nodded thoughtfully. “A garnish only, then.”

* * *

“And I was like, ‘Okay, that’s cute and all, but no. Not even a little. Not in this or any age. The very idea is as absurd as that peplos and chiton combination.’”

Persephone gasped. “You didn’t! Polly, that was rude.”

“And true!” Apollo countered. “He got all offended, and I was like, well, you’re offending my sensibilities.”

“I saw the outfit he’s talking about, Seph,” Dionysus put in. “He does not exaggerate.”

“Besides, that’s far kinder than I would have been,” Artemis said. “How dare he even _try_ to compare his skills to ours?”

“Whoa, hottie alert!”

As if hailed by Zeus himself, Dionysus and Apollo immediately forgot about the current conversation, scrambling to their feet to see what Hermes was looking at. The three of them jockeyed for position at the edge of the low bluff, trying to get the best view of the river below. There was a lot of elbowing and swearing and it was either lucky or unlucky no one went over, depending on who was asked.

Artemis sighed. “Charmers. And they wonder why they’re still not married,” she said to Persephone.

Or she would have done, if Persephone were still sunning herself on the rock beside her. But Persephone was gone, peering down along with the boys. She was standing on her toes, using the top of Apollo’s head to get a little more leverage for a better view. “Where? Where? Oh.” She turned away with a shrug. “I give her a seven, seven and a half tops.”

“Bite your tongue, Persephone!” Apollo said. “That’s Daphne. We’re deeply in love. She’s going to be the mother of my legitimate children. Daphne! Daphne, the light of your life, Apollo, is here!”

The naiads began looking up and pointing. Some hid themselves shyly, while others openly flirted in response. The seven and a half tossed her head and put her back to them.

“I’m not sure, Polly. What do you think that means? Do you think she’s interested?” Persephone said.

“My, someone becomes catty when there might be a lady hotter around,” Dionysus said.

“As if! Hotter than _you_ , certainly. Hotter than _me_? Please.”

“Let’s go down and join them!” Apollo said eagerly. Without waiting for an answer, he began making his way towards the river.

Dionysus eyed the bluff distastefully. “You want me to go down there? On my _feet_?”

“It’s for naiads, D,” Hermes said.

Dionysus sighed. “I’d think it was easy too if I had wings on my shoes.”

Hermes grinned cheekily before darting ahead.

“Have fun,” Persephone said dismissively. “I’m happily married.”

“Oh, I had no idea ‘happily married’ meant ‘also too lazy to walk down,’” Dionysus drawled.

“These are new sandals,” she said plaintively. “Besides, I can’t just leave Arty up here alone, can I?”

But Artemis was already following after Hermes. _Somebody_ had to be there to look out for those naiads if they needed it.

The foliage at the base of the bluff was thick and green. Apollo alighted gracefully, neck and neck with Hermes. Artemis was right behind them. Several moments passed before Dionysus fell into the bushes with a crash, followed shortly thereafter by another crash that was Persephone landing on top of him.

“Ow,” Dionysus said, not moving.

“Thanks, bro,” Persephone said, hopping to her feet and hurrying after the others.

Hermes was easily distracted by the other friendly naiads who came to greet him, while Artemis hung back, watching and ready to deliver her special brand of radical justice if she found it necessary. Persephone caught up with them, still pulling twigs out of her hair, and quickly struck up a conversation with some of shyer naiads who darted wary looks over her shoulder at the boys.

Apollo turned his godly swagger up to eleven and headed straight for Daphne. Her posture was defensive, her expression hostile, but she stood her ground.

“Daphne,” he announced, “my little rivulet. My love for you springs eternal. ’Tis no mere rill or brook I feel, but a flood, a mighty deluge of such proportions poets will sing of it for years to come and still struggle to find the words to do it justice. Will today not be the day you finally accept what’s in my heart, and perhaps return even a small measure of it?”

“No,” she said curtly.

It was as if a thousand knives had driven themselves into his heart. The pain was breathtakingly acute, but oh so exquisite. “Daphne, you must understand. I can never again be happy without you.”

“There are hundreds of nymphs who would be happy to have one night with you, Phoebus Apollo. Go pester one of them and leave me in peace. I know what happens to lesser beings who lie with gods.” And for the second time that day she turned her back on him.

She was right, of course. Despite all the jests and use of his name as a synonym for “totally failed to seal the deal,” he had his fair share of conquests. Nymphs and mortals and spirits clamored for his attention wherever he went, sometimes. And he could feel Artemis’ death glare boring two holes into his back. He knew he really should do as she asked and leave her alone.

But she was _Daphne_. And he was Apollo, dammit. Something in him refused to take no for an answer.

“Daphne, I’m only going to ask one more time,” he said.

“Only once more? _That’s_ a relief. This time, the answer is, as it ever has been, no.” She turned to face him as she delivered this pronouncement, but something in his eyes startled her, and she shrank back without meaning to.

Suddenly, seemingly without either of them consciously deciding to, they began to run. Daphne instinctively made a break for the relative safety of the trees. Apollo was faster, but Daphne knew these woods much better, and so she was able to leap surefooted through underbrush that tripped him up. Dryads she called friend risked their very lives to pull at his clothes and slow him further.

The two of them crashed through the forest, Daphne nimbly flying past trees and brush, Apollo pounding across the uneven ground after her. With Apollo’s handicap, their net speed was dead even, neither gaining nor losing any ground as the frenzied seconds passed.

Artemis could normally beat her brother on foot by a narrow margin, but adrenaline and other hormones were surging through his body, fueling him onward with an intensity that was nothing short of abnormal, even for him. Overhead, crows took flight, cawing a warning. Deer scattered with even more agility than Daphne. The pursuit left a trail of chaos in its wake, but neither party involved in it noticed nor cared that the normally peaceful forest was alive with danger.

Daphne burst through the trees, knowing her advantage was lost in the open. Trying to pump her legs even faster, she sprinted for the river. She would be able to get away from him there. He had been between her and it before, but now she had a clear shot.

Fingertips brushed her back as he grabbed for her. She was not going to make it.

“Father!” she shouted desperately. “Great Ladon, please, help me!”

Suddenly, it was as if the ground itself had grabbed her round the ankles. For a moment she thought her father had abandoned her, but then she felt it: the layer of bark racing up her body, the roots snaking out from the soles of her feet, the branches and leaves and the sounds of the forest that had been so faint before swelling up. The breeze caressed her rough skin and the trees whispered greetings. _My brethren_ , she called back, joy such as she’d never felt before filling her wooden heart.

The last thing she saw as Daphne was Apollo’s face, shocked and confused and heartbroken. _You may have desired me, but you never loved me_ , she thought, and then she was no more.

Apollo was left standing in front of a tree that had not been there a moment before. He reached out to touch a branch that was once an arm. Glossy green leaves dotted with clusters of small yellowish flowers spilled from each of them. It was beautiful, but it was not Daphne. He searched for any trace of her, but it was in vain; there was none to be found.

His legs gave out beneath him. Everything that had been propelling him onwards left him in a rush. He was utterly hollow, devoured inside by a deadness he was sure he’d never felt before.

An unnatural silence fell. He knew Artemis was behind him; a hunter far less skilled than she would have been able to follow that trail of destruction with ease. He expected a lecture but she was quiet. That was even worse. It made his pain real.

Artemis hesitated a moment, then sat down beside him.

The two remained still for a long time, the only sounds the nearby river and the rustle of leaves.

Apollo had stopped openly weeping by the time they got back to the others. Only Artemis knew how upset he was, and he wanted to keep it that way.

To their mild surprise, they found Persephone and Dionysus playing knucklebones with some of the naiads. Both were losing, and Persephone was visibly annoyed about it.

“I’d let her win if I were you,” Apollo said with forced joviality.

One of the other naiads elbowed the friend who was doing a little too well for her own good. “I _told_ you,” she whispered.

“Whatever,” Persephone snapped. “This game is stupid. Let’s go home.”

Artemis looked around. “What’s Hermes getting up to?”

“If he’s lucky, Aphrodite, but I’d guess more like Midas,” Dionysus said.

“What?”

“He ran off with a naiad,” Persephone said. “Or two, I forget. I’m not waiting around for him, he’ll just go sprinting ahead of us anyway.”

Artemis frowned, then looked at Dionysus. “Why are you still here?”

Dionysus was decidedly displeased with this topic. “To see your shining face again, of course. That or I’m so tenderized from that fall it’s actually too painful. One of those.” He picked lazily at the ground.

“Poor pitiful you. If your life were any more tragic, you could sell it to Melpomene for use as divine inspiration.” Persephone stood, brushing her clothes off. For the first time since the twins had come back, she got a good look at Apollo, and whatever she saw was enough to warrant a double take. “You okay, Polly?”

Dionysus looked up at them without raising his head.

Apollo scoffed. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? You’re right, though. There’s no point waiting around for Hermes. He’ll probably beat us back anyway.”

“Harsh.” Dionysus flicked aside a knucklebone and slowly got to his feet as well. “Personally I have a little bit more faith in him than that. We’ll probably all get there at the same time.”

Hermes actually got back to the palace shortly _after_ the others, earning nods of approval from both Persephone and Dionysus. The five of them decided to enjoy the sun in the courtyard for a bit longer before dinner, but Hermes was called away on business for Zeus almost immediately after his arrival, and Artemis said she had some business with one of her hunters, which everyone silently hoped didn’t involve punishment for vow-breaking. That was always so messy and put Artemis in an especially foul mood for days after.

Dionysus laid his head in Apollo’s lap. “My darling, use those magic fingers of yours to make my booboos better.”

“Tch. You only love me for my abilities,” Apollo said. “What about my looks? Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe I’m less than I appear?”

“You know I love you for your whole package.” Dionysus puckered his lips.

“Gross. Get a room. I’ll have Dad make it official,” Persephone said, throwing a pebble at his face.

“Alas, I cannot. I have sworn to remain chaste and unencumbered so that I may run fleet-footed through the woods with my—oh, wait, no, that’s not me. I just don’t want a wife.” He said the word as if it were a particularly bitter bite of fruit.

“Your loss,” Persephone said. “Wives are awesome, she said modestly.” She ran her fingers through her hair, watching the way it caught the sunlight. Her finger snagged on a tangle around a bramble she had missed before.

“Here, let me.” Unannounced, Eros alighted beside her, kneeling to help.

“Ah, thank you,” Persephone said, kissing him on the cheek. “You’re such a sweetie.”

Eros feigned modesty briefly, then nodded. “I really am though.” He took in the sight of Apollo and Dionysus. “You all look a little worse for the wear. Fun day?”

“A real laugh riot,” Dionysus said flatly.

Eros caught Apollo’s eye and a smirk slowly grew on his face. “Almost as absurd as my peplos and chiton combination, would you say?” He winked, then flew off.

Apollo stared after, gaping.

“What the heck was that all about?” Persephone asked. She and Dionysus were both watching Apollo, confused and expectant.

“Ouch! Watch it!” Dionysus cried suddenly. Apollo had fisted the curls on his crown and was nearly pulling them out by their roots.

“Oh.” Apollo quickly released his grip and patted them back into place. “It’s nothing. I’m just wondering what would happen if you took one of Eros’ love arrows and ran it through various sensitive areas of his body. Do you think he’d fall in love with you? As long as he saw you first, I mean.”

Persephone and Dionysus had no answer for that, but then, it had been a rhetorical question anyway.

* * *

The breeze caught Cassandra’s rich red hair, drawing it back from her head like a banner. She gripped the side of the wall and leaned as far forward as she dared, inhaling deeply the cool evening air.

“You know, I built these walls,” Apollo said, dispensing with pointless false modesty. He was an Olympian, after all.

“By yourself?” Cassandra asked, glancing back at him over her shoulder.

“Yes. Well, Poseidon helped a little.” He decided not to mention Aeacus. It seemed spiteful in hindsight, and bringing up the impending destruction of her home would probably dampen the mood a little. 

Cassandra gazed out over the lower city, still buzzing with life at this time of day. Merchants called out to passersby, trying to make last-minute sales before darkness forced them to close up. Children shrieked with laughter as they giddily chased each other in endless circles and won and lost and won at game after game. Mothers tried in vain to call them in for dinner, play and friends being more enticing than pork and lentil soup for the moment. Dogs barked, geese honked, the clattering of horse hooves against the roads resounded.

“I love this view,” Cassandra said dreamily, drinking it all in.

“Me too.”

“The city is like a creature of its own.”

“I wasn’t talking about the city.” He sidled up alongside her and snaked an arm around her waist.

“My lord,” she muttered demurely, turning her head away but otherwise not resisting his grip. “Remember what we spoke of.”

He tried not to sound too exasperated when he sighed. “Can’t I just swear it on the River Styx?” Actually he was hoping she wouldn’t call his bluff there. There was no way he could swear an unbreakable oath of fidelity to her. He would have already broken it twice that morning alone—or once, depending on how counting was done.

“No. I have to see. I have to see it for myself to know it to be true. Please, won’t you grant me this small gift? I know for one such as yourself, it would be a trifling matter, but to me, it would mean everything. I would be yours, only yours, truly and fully, a humble vessel for your divine grace.”

Apollo opted not to tell her that that actually sounded really unappealing to him. All he wanted was to sleep with her. She was gorgeous, of remarkable lineage—and, truthfully, would have made a very capable prophetess. She already had the inclination. If he added his blessing to her natural gifts, she would have been formidable indeed.

Besides, it wasn’t like he had to show her a detailed fresco of him slipping out of her bed at first light once he was done with her. Prophecies were vague at best and easily misinterpreted, even by the very clever. Instead he could perhaps give her a glimpse of all the things he would do to and for her before then. As far as he was concerned, a lie with him was another blessing, after all, one they could share. He knew from firsthand experience that he was an exceptional lover.

He ran his hand down the curve of her hip. He longed to feel her bare skin under the fabric. He ached for it. It was too much. He knew he had to have her. He could let her have a touch of foresight, then, if that was what she truly wanted.

And so he laid his blessing on her, letting it settle around her like an aethereal blanket. Her eyelids fluttered closed and she swooned against him. There was no need for that part, but he thought it made it more dramatic and impressive if there was a least a little fainting. Plus he simply could not resist the opportunity to be the one to catch them. It was undeniably romantic.

Slowly, she opened her eyes again and found herself looking up at Apollo’s (really excellent, if he said so himself) face. He smiled warmly at her.

“Ah, she shines even more radiantly than before,” he said, so softly that if they had been any further apart she wouldn’t have been able to hear him. He caressed her cheek, gazing into her eyes for a long moment before closing his and leaning in to kiss her.

Instead of soft lips he was met with fingertips. He blinked. Cassandra had put a hand out to stop him.

“My lord,” she whispered. “Only… I’m feeling very overwhelmed. We mortals are so frail, you know. Might… might we postpone our rendezvous for another night? I would never forgive myself if in my fatigue I was to leave you unsatisfied.”

Apollo gritted his teeth. “You could never, my divine one.”

“Please,” she said, looking up at him through her lashes. “I could not live with myself otherwise.”

He forcibly swallowed what probably would have been a growl and gave her a smile instead, albeit one that was mostly teeth. “Of course. Tomorrow—”

“Perhaps,” she cut in gently, “my lord will let me call for him the instant I feel back to myself? That way not a moment is wasted.”

That was a good point, actually. He didn’t want to end up waiting all day if he could get some afternoon delight. “All right,” he said. “Until then, lambent flame of my heart.”

And so he headed back up to Olympus for the night, alone and unsatisfied but with the promise of many sweet returns on his investment.

“Do my ears deceive me? Is that our lover boy returning so soon?”

Apollo poked his head into his living room. Making themselves at right home there were Dionysus (the one who’d spoken), Ariadne, Persephone, and Artemis.

“Uh, hey, guys,” he said. “What… are you doing here?”

“Good evening to you too,” Persephone said cheekily, raising her cup to him in a mock salute.

“No, no, I just… am surprised. And delighted! Artemis, sister dearest, why didn’t you set up this little soirée in your own rooms?”

“I was going to, but…” She cut her eyes pointedly at Dionysus.

“I’m sorry, I accidentally brought a penis,” Dionysus said.

“The anatomy is less of a problem than that mouth,” Artemis snapped back, flushing bright red.

“I’m sorry,” Ariadne said nervously. “I… I didn’t realize…”

Dionysus, Persephone, and even Artemis practically fell over themselves in their rush to assure her she had done nothing wrong and that Dionysus and Artemis were quite content to keep blaming each other for all the world’s ails, like always. Apollo tried to take advantage of the distraction to slip away, but of course, he had no such luck.

“Oh, how rude of us,” Dionysus said loudly. “We’re neglecting the guest of honor. Apollo dear, how did you say your evening went again?”

Apollo steeled himself, then took a step back and forced another smile. “I didn’t, actually, but thanks for asking. Good night!”

“Polly!” Persephone called. “Don’t be rude! D and Ari brought wine and dessert.”

Dammit. Being rude to Ariadne was like stepping on kittens, and besides, her food was amazing. He took another step back. “What kind of dessert?”

“Milopita?” Ariadne said hopefully.

Well, that was the end of that. He couldn’t very well say no to Ariadne’s milopita, even if it likely meant he was condemning himself to a long and torturous night of ridicule.

“So,” Dionysus said before Apollo had even managed to sit down, “we’re all on the same page with assuming Apollo didn’t get any tonight, right?”

Apollo was immediately back on his feet.

“Aw, come on,” Persephone said, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him back down. “He’s just teasing. Look. Noms.” She waved the pastry under his nose.

It smelled heavenly. “Hand it over,” Apollo said, unceremoniously digging in.

Artemis elbowed him.

He said something around a mouthful that might have been some form of thanks or a compliment, which Ariadne accepted politely and with minimal awkwardness.

“So what’s so great about this Alexandra chick she’s worth going all the way to _Troy_ for?” Dionysus loaded the word with as much disgust as he could manage.

“Cassandra,” Apollo corrected.

Dionysus examined his fingernails, unconcerned. “I’ve heard it both ways.”

“I’m assuming she’s a hottie, right?” Persephone said. “Paint me a word picture.”

Artemis stood abruptly. “All right, I’m going to bed.”

“Hey, how come _you_ get to leave?” Apollo demanded.

“Because I already had my share of milopita,” she said over her shoulder as she abandoned him to his fate.

“Besides, she scares me,” Dionysus added.

“I heard that!”

He grimaced and clutched at Ariadne. “You’ll protect me, won’t you?” He rubbed his face against her arm like a cat.

She wrapped her arm protectively around him and said sweetly, “Only after I laugh at you.”

“I mean in fairness she’s terrifying,” Persephone said. “Like at least half of Olympus is afraid of her and the other half just hasn’t learned to be yet. But more importantly. Polly! Girl! Talk!”

Apollo sighed dreamily. “She’s the princess, you know. Laomedon’s granddaughter.”

“Who?” Dionysus said.

“Laomedick,” Persephone clarified.

“Oh, that guy.” He nodded.

Apollo cleared his throat to hush them before continuing. “Her hair is the color of a perfect sunrise. Her skin, like fresh—”

Persephone waved her hands, cutting him off. “Sorry, I didn’t think that question through. The point here is she’s hot, right?”

“And how!”

Dionysus was unconvinced. “Still wouldn’t go to Troy for her. Uh, that is, not when I have such a—”

Ariadne punched him playfully on the shoulder. “Oh, save it.”

“So like, what do you guys _do_?” Persephone said. “I mean—”

“She means since you are obviously not doing the do,” Dionysus said.

“You are both so puerile,” Apollo sniffed. “Our relationship is much more complex than that. You couldn’t possibly understand.”

“Uh, married, married, married, not married,” Persephone said, pointing to herself, Dionysus, Ariadne, and Apollo in turn.

He waved a hand dismissively. “This is about serious long-term relationships. Marriage has nothing to do with it. Anyway, we talk, of course. I show her incredible sights—”

“Not that incredible, apparently,” Dionysus muttered around the rim of his cup.

Apollo barreled on. “She tells me about Troy and her family, I tell her what it’s like to have vast power over nature and the cosmos, I grant her the gift of foresight, sometimes we get dinner—”

“Whoa, whoa, wait, back up the chariot,” Persephone cut in as Dionysus did a spit take. “You _what_?”

“Sometimes get dinner? Most important meal of the day?”

“Did you seriously just _give_ this girl prophetic power?” Dionysus said, using the cloth Ariadne handed him to wipe off his chin. “Wait, were you the one offering? I mean, you’re an idiot either way, but…”

Apollo was indignant. “No, she asked me, repeatedly over the course of several dates while fending off my advances. And what exactly do you mean to imply?”

Persephone and Dionysus exchanged undisguised glances. Ariadne pursed her lips and stared down at her knees.

“You got played, bro,” Dionysus said at last.

“Like a cithara,” Persephone added.

“I did not!” Apollo huffed. “She said she would call for me first thing tomorrow after she got some rest and _stop looking at each other like that_.”

“Apollo,” Ariadne said gently. “People are not always as genuine in their intentions as we wish they were.”

That tore it. Apollo stood, then said quietly and with forced politeness, “I hate to kick you out, but you really must be going now.”

“Polly—” Persephone started, but Dionysus put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. She glanced up at him questioningly, receiving only a solemn shake of the head in response.

Without further ado, the three guests filed out in a solemn procession.

“The milopita was flawless as usual, Ari. Thank you very much,” Apollo said by way of farewell before abruptly shutting the door.

Artemis stuck her head back in. “Are they gone?”

“Yeah. Thanks for the backup, by the way.”

She rolled her eyes. “What did you expect me to do? They were going to make fun of you regardless of what I did or didn’t say. They always do.”

He glared up at her from under his brow. “Not. Helping.”

She shrugged. “I really am sorry they made fun of you, but this isn’t exactly my domain of expertise.”

Apollo sighed, deflating. “Yeah. I’m sorry too. I’m just a little… frustrated…”

“Huh?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Anyway, they’ll be the ones with quail egg on their faces tomorrow when Cassandra calls on me to come for her.”

Only she didn’t call for him the following afternoon. He ignored Persephone and Dionysus’ combo attack of faux sympathy and unadulterated mockery. This didn’t mean anything.

And it didn’t mean anything when she didn’t call for him that night, either. Or at all the next day.

By the fourth day he was starting to consider the possibility that they might have been onto something, and that was when the humiliation began to sink in. Trying to control his anger and still attempting, against all reason, to give Cassandra the benefit of the doubt, he returned to Troy for the first time since that night.

It was a bright and sunny morning and the agora was packed. Apollo first thought to make his way directly to the palace, but before he could do that, he was distracted by a knot of people clamoring for the attention of whoever or whatever was at the center of it.

Apollo pushed his way through the crowd. He knew what he was going to see before he saw it and still his stomach dropped. It was his Cassandra, incandescent, the picture of health, blithely dispensing prophecies with the gift _he_ had given her.

“You will see your son again before the harvest, I’m sure of it,” she told a tearful woman, who nodded and thanked her before stepping back into the crowd. “Who is next?”

“Me,” Apollo said.

Cassandra spun to face him and at least she had the grace to be startled. “My lord, I… I…”

He waited, but she didn’t seem to know how to finish that sentence. “Hm?” he prompted. “You what? You only become waifish in my presence? You completely forgot what you promised me? Or was it simply that you _lied_?”

She was going to deny it, he knew it, but she found something in his face that made her decide against it. Instead she straightened her back, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin. “I’m sorry, my lord, I don’t want to lie with you. My chastity is too valuable to me.”

He was furious. “So, what? You expected me to… to…”

“To give a gift without strings attached?” she shot back.

He jabbed a finger at her accusingly. “You led me on!”

“I never made you a single promise or vow.” She crossed her arms over her chest and turned her nose up at him.

He took a step closer. His face was a mere breath from hers. “You knew very well what I expected in return.”

She didn’t even flinch. “Yes. You expected me to lie down and pay the toll.”

Without meaning to, he reeled back. He was stunned. She may as well have slapped him.

“What did I do that was so wrong?” she went on when he didn’t speak. “I misled you, yes. I’m sorry. That was so very cruel of me. But would you have given me this gift without believing I, a mere mortal, would give you something even more precious in return? Of course not. And look.” She took a step back, holding her arms outstretched to indicate the citizens gathered around them. “Look at the good I’m doing. I’m helping, anyone who asks I give them what help I can. The people love me. They love _you_ , in whose name I speak.”

Apollo still didn’t answer for another moment, and then quite suddenly his face twisted into a sneer. “ _Do_ you speak for me, Cassandra?”

This time it was her turn to say nothing. Whether she couldn’t think of how to respond or she was simply losing her nerve, it was impossible to tell.

“And do the people of Troy _really_ love you? But how can they possibly love a liar?”

Cassandra drew in a breath, her nostrils flaring. “I am not a liar. I have always been faithful and virtuous, to the gods and to my people.”

“Indeed,” Apollo said. “And now I’ll grant you your reward for that piety, Cassandra. Have the gift of prophecy you so desperately coveted. Have it tenfold. Much good may it do you when no one ever believes another word you speak again, no matter how truthful.”

To drive the point home, he let a tiny fraction of his prophetic power flow into her. She gasped as she was overwhelmed by visions: _fire soldiers marching laying siege fighting ten years so much fire and blood so much blood Hector beloved Hector a horse a gift a curse brothers sisters father the city burning a pair of strong arms dragging pulling ripping pounding the screams are they hers no no no the screams the screams make it stop, make it stop,_

 _“Make it stop!”_ she screamed, clawing at her face. She had fallen to the ground without even realizing it. Her knee throbbed where all her weight had landed on it but she didn’t care.

Apollo stood over her, his expression empty of emotion. “Make what stop, Cassandra?”

“Is it true, my lord?” She clasped her hands in a gesture of supplication, looking up at him pleadingly. “Is that our fate? The fate of Troy?”

“What?” he said.

Tears fell down her cheeks, hot and thick and relentless. “Please, I’ll do anything you want. Anything. I’ll make it up to you a thousand times over. I will rededicate myself to your service, forego food and sleep and all else but your worship. Please, please, anything, name it and it’s yours.”

He took a step back. “I don’t believe you.”

* * *

Apollo sat on the grass, the sun warm on the back of his neck. He reached out and gently rubbed one of the petals between his fingers. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend the softness he felt was the softness of skin. It was a poor substitute, but maybe, just maybe…

That day had played over and over and over in his mind so many times he’d lost count. Was there anything he could have done? The conclusion he came to was the same every time: the only way he could have changed things was to never have fallen in love.

“Apollo, watch this!” Hyacinth ran up the hillock, his smile the brightest thing Apollo had ever laid eyes on. He was athletic, graceful, beautiful. The lines of his body were works of art. Apollo could have feasted on them all day, with his eyes and his hands and his mouth, and never grown weary.

He could still remember the feel of the grass under his feet, the smell of a clear spring day in his nose. He wanted to chase Hyacinth, to catch him, to never let him go.

He could do it, too. Zeus had, with Ganymede. Surely, if he said the right words, impressed the right feelings—

No, words and feelings never got anyone very far with Zeus. He would have to show him the boy. “Look,” he’d say. “That’s him.” And Zeus would understand. If there was one thing Zeus understood, it was true beauty. That, and lust. He was more concerned Zeus would want Hyacinth for himself, but Zeus was no monster. Surely, surely he would understand how important this was.

But of course, it ended up not mattering at all.

“Apollo, watch this!” Hyacinth was always so eager to impress. Didn’t understand, didn’t see, that the fact that he existed was impressive enough. Apollo told him so, repeatedly, tangled in the bedding, up against a wall, bare on the grass under the myrtle.

Apollo felt the warm breeze, carrying a hint of sickly sweetness. He didn’t realize until it was too late.

_Watch this!_

And so he watched, and saw, when the discus went wrong. It had been a perfect throw, Hyacinth poised to make the perfect catch. But that terrible gentle breeze threw it off course, landing a fierce, heavy blow straight to that beautiful, delicate, mortal head.

It was over in an instant. Hyacinth crumpled to the ground. Apollo stared, bewildered, waiting for him to get back up.

The smell again, fruity and heady and nauseating. When he looked, Zephyrus was beside him, grim-faced.

“That was a terrible accident,” Zephyrus said unfeelingly. “You hitting that poor boy like that.”

That stench, that fetid wind blowing wrong. Apollo could have destroyed him then, torn him limb from limb with hands bare and unforgiving. But he found himself running—floating, more like, to Hyacinth’s side.

Gazing into his blank, empty eyes, Apollo knew. Knew he was gone, knew there was no coming back. Mortal lives were so fragile. He had always known that. It seemed like he had seen more mortals come and go than there were stars in the sky.

Feeling faded from his body. There was no shock, there was no rage, there was no regret. There was nothing but the weight of Hyacinth’s body in his arms, still soft and warm but limp and wrong.

Forever was a myth.

His tears fell unbidden, and before the warmth faded completely, he summoned up what little conscious thought he had and spared Hyacinth the only way he could think of: by changing him into a flower, a hyacinth, the first of its kind, the petals as delicate and beautiful as his lover had been, the scent cleansing his palate of that godawful wrong wind. A flower.

Silly and sentimental and all he had to give.

The tear stains from that day were still on the petals, permanent streaks of color marring their perfection such that it made them even more perfect.

She sat beside him in that soundless way only a supernaturally skilled huntress could manage. She was looking a little strained—it was a new moon, he remembered dimly, but when she reached out to squeeze his hand, her grip was strong and firm and reassuring.

“Come on,” Artemis said, getting to her feet and dragging him, unresisting, along with her. “Seph is back. She wants us to try something called a mangorita, which, I don’t know what that is but frankly it sounds vile. I’m sure she and D and whoever else she corrals along will get silly on them and whatever else they can get their hands on. Wanna stay sober with me and see what we can talk them into doing for our amusement?” She cocked her head questioningly.

A drink or fifty sounded divine right then, but Apollo gave her hand a squeeze back and said, “Yeah. Let’s.”


End file.
